The Joy of Living
by drurie
Summary: With the death of the Malfoys, Blaise is appointed Scorpius' guardian and has to fight to keep his inheritance. He thought he had it bad with Potter as his overzealous lawyer. Things get worse when an ancient spell of the Manor is invoked and when it seems that the Chosen One is headed for certain death (again). Drarry, one-sided: Blaise/Draco and (very minor) Lucius/Draco.
1. A Ridiculous Apparition

A/N: Hello! This is one of the fics I started in 2010/11 and never got around to completing. But I do want to now, so thank you for reading as I work through it.

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy sniffed disapprovingly as he unloaded his numerous suitcases in Blaise's average flat. Blaise wasn't bothered by his behavior one bit. He understood. Thirteen years of living in Malfoy Manor would spoil anyone. He supposed he should have agreed to move over instead of forcing the boy to come live here, but Blaise didn't like the Manor. It held too many memories.

* * *

Over tea with the silent boy, Blaise remembered the morning he read the Prophet, proclaiming Draco Malfoy dead, his broken figure found slumped in one of the white lawn chairs, face turned skywards.

A few days before that, the trial that had finally fully cleared the Malfoy name of any wrongdoing had been won. Potter had been the lawyer (yes, they had that now, worthless Muggle terms and professions) defending Draco and his father. Blaise recalled Draco saying that he wished his mother was there to witness it all; Narcissa had passed on a few years earlier due to health complications. The Manor, left with only Draco and Lucius then, had fallen into a quiet stupor afterwards without her parties.

Blaise knew that it was murder. Everyone else probably did, too. But no one said or did anything. Draco Malfoy was given a stately funeral in the traditional burial ground of the Malfoys. Scorpius held his head high, even as he stood without the presence of his mother, letting go of only a single tear.

Lucius Malfoy committed suicide a few days later. Out of grief for his family, they said. He joined Draco's side in the graves.

A few months later, Blaise found himself burdened with the Scorpius boy and embroiled in what looked to be a long-drawn lawsuit Greengrass had set up to claim part of the Malfoy inheritance.

* * *

Three years passed quickly and Scorpius grew up into a man even faster. Blaise found it a pity though, that Draco's angular features were only a passing impression on the boy. His eyes were also not the shade of frigid grey that Draco's were.

It had to be poor blood from his mother.

The case was still far from closed. Potter –the hero, the celebrity lawyer, as always- dropped by for frequent visits and consultations. Two complications he kept harping on – one, that Scorpius only had up to 7 years after Draco's death to claim his family's inheritance; if not done by then the inheritance would be passed to the Ministry or Greengrass. Second, the court claimed that it was inappropriate to hand over full inheritance to Scorpius as of yet for that could only happen if he were twenty one, or if Draco made a public statement allowing him to prematurely receive it. Both were impossible though, Blaise scowled. Scorpius, being 13 at the time of Draco's death, had basically lost the case by being a year too young to meet the deadline. And Draco was dead in every sense of the word and buried deep underground.

He quietly wondered if this was the court's way of getting back at Potter for choosing to fight for the dirty, _dirty_ Malfoy name.

* * *

There were only two weeks left to the opening of the new school year when Scorpius made his request.

"I want to return to the Manor," he stated.

"For a visit?"

"No. I want to _live_ there again."

"I'm not sure if I…"

"I've started packing my things already."

Blaise shut his eyes as Scorpius drew away. The painful case came to mind, and so, in a spur of oddly Gryffindor heroics, he relented for the sake of the boy, and went to pack his things and put his flat up for sale.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was still every bit he remembered it to be. The place crackled gently with the magic that Blaise supposed helped it upkeep itself. Scorpius smiled, and Blaise was sure then he had made the right choice.

He left Scorpius to attend to his own room. He knew the room he wanted to visit first.

For a moment, he hesitated as he stood outside the door of the bedroom of Draco Malfoy.

Then, he knocked three times out of habit and opened the door.

A young couple, so painfully alike in some of their features, whirled around and stared back at him.

"Mr Malfoy…? _Draco_…?"

* * *

_Ghosts_, Blaise thought, heart hurting, as he saw the figure of Lucius flicker. Lucius looked no older than twenty, proud and aristocratic with formal robes, with no tinge of colour to his body. He wasn't real, of this realm, because Blaise saw the bed, right through him.

But Draco…Draco was…

Blaise reached out a hand and ran it tentatively across the outstretched, pale arm of his friend. His fingers dipped through the opaque skin, but he could feel a tinge of the sensation of having touched soft, real skin.

"Draco, are you real? Is this…are you _alive_?"

"What's dead stays dead, Blaise. I'm only as real as the day before today is. It's absolutely terrific, existing within the confines of the limbo between life and death. And I'm surprised you haven't laughed at my attire yet; Father here wouldn't relent for _weeks_. How many days has it been since the passing…?"

"Three years," Blaise mouthed, truly examining Draco's form for the first time.

If Draco was alive and wearing such an outfit, he would have laughed and laughed the same way Lucius did. Draco, in his seventeen year old form, was in a navy blue gown, with multiple frills from mid thigh onwards. The bottom of the dress fanned around him the way a wedding gown would. His hair fell to his shoulders, and it looked like it had actually been intentionally _styled_ for the garment. There was faint makeup, but no lipstick, thankfully; his lips were still the same shade of pink Blaise remembered them to be.

"It really matches you, dear," Blaise grinned. Lucius chuckled discreetly from behind Draco, whilst the boy pretended to look extremely miffed.

"Father says that this is the work of the ancient magic of the Manor, but what exactly he cannot remember. It has not been activated for centuries," Draco sniffed, patting his dress self-consciously.

"Have you checked the Manor library?"

"Excellent idea, Zabini, but I'm a ghost and my hands just happen to pass through all the books. And it could be in any of those thousands of books. It's obviously not reversible though, so why bother?"

"I'll ask our favourite bushy-haired bookworm, then."

Lucius shuddered violently in disapproval in the background. Draco looked unconcerned.

There was a moment of silence, before Draco stepped forward, and Blaise suddenly found himself looking extremely intently into the boy's eyes, unable to tear his eyes away from the gaze of the ghost.

"Won't you join me, _Blaise?_"

The ghost's face creased in sadness. Blaise felt something- a powerful emotion- ripple within him. He did the only thing he could think of: bolt out of the room and put a large, large distance between him and the ghosts. Draco's words, his presence, and his aura- something about them made him uncomfortable, feel perverse; perverse for being fully forty-one years old and feeling such sudden desire for the seventeen year old memory of his best friend.

* * *

Of course Harry Potter, the good sir, dropped in later that day to continue work with the case. Scorpius stared off into the distance, looking nonchalant as Potter went on and on about nothing in particular. Blaise kept himself awake in the onslaught of Potter's incessant droning by amusing himself with a little Warming Charm on the teapot every now and then.

"…never had happened if Draco were here!"

Blaise's head snapped up at that moment. But it wasn't because of whatever clueless lawyer Potter had said, but because he heard _music_\- and the tapping of dancing feet coming from Draco's bedroom. Potter leaned forward, concerned.

"Mr Zabini?"

Blaise didn't respond; he was frightened as hell that Potter could hear the sounds too. Potter would choose to be a goddamned nosy arse and go up to investigate- and he hadn't even found out what exactly Draco and his father were; so _damn_ Potter if he was going to get killed by a bunch of malicious spirits under Blaise's watch.

Sometime in the silence Scorpius must have rolled his eyes and left the table for his room, because when Blaise finally recollected himself, all he saw was that awful bespectacled face of the pesky lawyer.

"Is there someone else living here, Zabini? Not that it is of any importance to the case, of course," Potter nodded, looking up in the direction of the bedroom curiously.

_Damn Potter._

Blaise glared sullenly at him.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Potter, I look forward to discussing the case again very soon," Blaise said cordially, briskly ushering Potter to the door before he could protest.

* * *

Blaise paid a visit to Draco's grave the week after he'd sent Scorpius back off to Hogwarts. He gently placed a bouquet of roses next to the elaborate tombstone.

The place felt so empty. The ground in which Draco lay sealed in his coffin- it felt as if it was devoid of his presence. As if Draco's conscience was still existent someplace away from here. As if Draco was still alive.

The crows cawed and a drizzle fell soon after the thought.

Blaise whistled in worry, gathered his things and Apparated to the Weasley-Granger den.

* * *

"Zabini, pleasure to see you- I hope you aren't here for more advice on the case though, I absolutely must reiterate that I_ refuse _to partake in such horrendously biased court proceedings-"

"Not that, something else," Blaise tried a smile wearily, to stop Granger's stream of words.

"Oh. Come in then, but do dry yourself before you sit on the couch."

Blaise settled himself on the too homely –_ragtag_,he thought- couch quietly. Granger stared at him expectantly.

"Do you know anything about an ancient Malfoy spell? The one that affects spirits?"

Now, Granger looked _really _excited- to the point that it was frightening.

"Yes, yes, do tell! You mean to say-"

"-Draco and his father still linger on in the house. But their spirits take the form of their younger selves. And for some odd reason, Draco's in _a dress_."

Blaise found himself backing away slightly as Granger tilted her head back to laugh, almost hysterically, "A dress?! Oh god, Zabini, if you even knew!"

"That's what I'm here for," he replied, a little crossly.

"The spell is activated only when the Malfoy leaves the world without the one he desires. They linger around the Manor, using what little magical ability they have left to try to draw the one to them. The house embodies some of their living conscience into their spirit form, whose looks are based on a particularly attractive _and_ unique appearance they took on some time in their life."

"So you mean to say, Draco is in a dress, and he's seventeen years old when he's wearing it- because he actually _wore it himself_ when he was that age- and the Manor thinks he looked bloody good in it?"

"Bingo, Zabini! I am thoroughly-"

"Yes Granger, amused. But more importantly, why draw the person back? What's the intention?"

She eyed him warily.

"They lure the one back to convince the person to join them in taking the train to the next life. As soon as possible."

Blaise's mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"And how do you know if you are the one?"

"If you are the one, you'd be able to touch the Malfoy as if the Malfoy was a real being, and you'd see the Malfoy in full colour. It's all part of the seduction, I suppose. Do tell me though; is Lucius simply like another ghost? Or does he retain some colour?"

"Just transparent. Why?"

"…He's that way because he's waiting for another spirit, Zabini. I'm just going to put it across bluntly; I think he's waiting for Draco."

Blaise's head was spinning. He quickly conjured up a glass of water and gulped it down. He couldn't get his mind around all this new information – of Lucius and Draco's possible relationship and the intention of the spirits. Though, he comforted himself, it was likely he was not the one who was going to be encouraged into the slaughterhouse- he had not been able to grip Draco's arm firmly the way he could when Draco was alive. He had an idea of who "the one" for Draco might be though; Draco had spoken at length about Potter even after Scorpius' birth. Slipping up on his guard and letting that nuisance of a man see the waiting spirit was as good as deciding to send Potter to the guillotine.

Granger watched Blaise silently, as if trying to read his thoughts.

"Be very careful, Zabini. The spell hasn't been activated in so long because the Malfoys have always managed to get what they want through their affluence. Very few wizarding families, even some of the purest and oldest, have ever managed to employ such a spell. It may even be stronger than an excellent Imperius; this ability was created with the use of a very powerful but since-forgotten ritual. The Malfoys burned all records of the ritual after they were done with it."


	2. The Lesser Saint

A/N: This was a slightly confusing chapter to write because I wanted to show the contradictions between Blaise's rationality with his emotional responses (i.e. jealousy). So apologies if his personality seems a little _too_ inconsistent here.

* * *

Blaise Apparated back to the Manor and walked briskly down the ridiculously long path to the door. He had to pack his things and find some temporary lodgings till Scorpius was back next year. The last thing he wanted was for Potter to…

He stopped in his tracks, and just _gaped _at the Manor.

The Manor was quite literally, _gleaming_. Many of the lights were switched on, the place somehow looked ten times fresher than he had left it, and the magical aura of the house was buzzing and swirling around so strongly that Blaise almost swore that the house was twinkling in fairy dust.

_Spirits…magic…forgot to put up the strong wards today, oh Merlin, Potter, damn Potter!_

Blaise practically bulldozed his way down the front door, hoping with all his might that that useless lawyer hadn't decided to pop by while he was gone.

Potter's tardy suitcase sat at the side of the leg of an elegant table, reminding him that its owner would always have the unfortunate habit of going against his will.

"_Absolutely gorgeous_, might I add…"

Gritting his teeth in worry and frustration, Blaise stomped up the marble staircase uncaringly, taking two steps at a time. He burst unglamorously into Draco's bedroom, panting and sweating furiously.

"Potter…you…you…"

Potter strode over and beamed at him, mind numbingly obnoxious and dumb as he ever forced himself to be as he patted his shoulder.

"Mr Zabini! I'm surprised you didn't tell me that Draco and his father were living up here!"

_When were they ever on a first-name basis?_

Draco looked almost guiltily over Potter's shoulder, hands twisting in the fabric of his dress. Lucius had his arms crossed firmly over his chest and looked almost irritated with Blaise's interruption. _At least I know what you two are up to now, though_, Blaise thought.

"I thought you wouldn't be interested, Potter. You weren't the kindest person to Draco in school," Blaise commented dryly, standing up straight and pushing Potter's hand away, "And do we not have a case to continue work on?"

Potter nodded in his irritating "I-understand" manner that he had developed later in life, along with his increased temperament.

"Yes, of course, Mr Zabini. But that was so long ago…"

From the corner of his eye, Blaise saw Potter's eyes linger a little too long on Draco's young figure. He knew that that attraction probably wasn't all Potter's fault, but he couldn't help the disgust that reared its ugly head within him.

_Pervert. I could tell on you to the Weaslette, if I wanted to._

"Besides, with Draco here, we could work on the case with him! In fact, I was thinking…"

"Go get your goddamned suitcase, why don't you?" Blaise scowled darkly to end his blabbering. Potter shrugged, unbothered, and quietly went down to retrieve his documents.

Draco watched Potter leave before focusing his gaze on Blaise. He felt a sharp stab of jealousy and possessiveness that he knew the spirits could feel. Draco stepped forward to embrace him, and Blaise returned it despite his better judgment. He sighed into the smaller frame, whose barely-there touch and scent reminded him that this wasn't ever his for the taking.

Potter returned.

Lucius Malfoy hovered around the background.

"You're wasting your time, boy."

Blaise wasn't sure which one of the three of them he was talking to.

* * *

He was pretty relieved when Lucius excused himself to the garden politely upon seeing the thick spread of documents Potter hauled out of his suitcase. Draco seemed to have lost much semblance to his evil man-eating spirit form (as Blaise now labelled him in his mind), and was reading the papers with extreme interest and fear. Potter, he noted to his disgust, seemed just as intent on being near him.

"You were murdered that day, weren't you, Draco?" Blaise blurted out, wanting the pair to keep their distance from each other.

"I might be selfish, but not selfish enough to leave my son behind by own accord," Draco nodded, beaming as he lifted his gaze from the papers. Blaise grinned back. Potter looked slightly riled.

Potter placed a firm hand on Draco's shoulder –as if mocking Blaise's inability to do so- and said, "Actually Draco, I was thinking of telling the court to come here and watch you make a statement for young Scorpius to inherit the fortune prematurely. Miss Greengrass has much of their favour, and we need to do this quite immediately."

"They'd take a spirit's word?" Blaise uttered, but was overshadowed by Draco's indignant squawk, "_See me in this?!_"

"Well, I could help you change…" Potter suggested; too hopefully, in Blaise's opinion. Merlin, for a married forty-one year old man, Potter did still act like a hormonal teenager.

"It'd probably turn back to a dress. Father said so."

"Maybe if I held on to a cuff or something, it wouldn't be able to…"

"Bring him one of your fancy suits tomorrow. Mine are too big for him. And I'm tired. Thanks for the great idea. Should've alerted you about Draco sooner. See you tomorrow, Potter," Blaise cut in promptly, packing the documents for Potter. Potter stood in shock for a while, before recovering.

"Alright then, have a good night, the both of you," he smiled, "No need to see me to the door, I'll help myself out." He waved. Blaise stood stoically, Draco waved back eagerly.

_He's playing Potter like a puppet with his magic._

The door shut close firmly. Blaise let out a quiet sigh as his posture drooped.

"Someone's jealous," Draco whispered knowingly as he whisked past Blaise.

* * *

Blaise awoke groggily the next morning with a strange heavy-soft sensation on his calves.

"Morning, sweetheart," a voice cooed as the sunlight tore at his eyelids.

"Ugh, Draco!" Blaise yelped, swatting the boy, who was sitting gingerly on his legs, away gently. Draco laughed loudly as he slipped off and strode right through the other side of the bed to Blaise's side. Blaise groaned in pain as he massaged his legs, trying to get rid of the pins and needles.

"Getting old doesn't look so fun," Draco sneered as he tried to ruffle Blaise's fringe, "But you've got to move quickly, old man, it's 10 in the morning and Father doesn't have house-elves to make the breakfast anymore."

Blaise pinched the skin on Draco's wrist as firmly as his slippery touch on him could manage and laughed as he stumbled out of the room and down the staircase with a peeved spirit yelling right behind him.

* * *

Blaise had barely finished swallowing his last chunk of bacon when he heard rapt knocking at the front door. He almost choked in his irritation and ungraciously slammed his cutlery onto the table, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he walked that long distance down to the door. Draco trailed behind him with a scarily eager look on his face.

Just as expected, it was Potter at the door, with his stupid scar and his stupid hair and his _stupid grin_.

"Morning, Mr Zabini," he greeted him cheerily before quickly sidestepping him. He breathed softly, "And hello again, Draco."

"It's nice to have you back in the Manor, Harry," Draco said quietly. Blaise still had his back to them but he was pretty sure Draco was giving some sort of coy smile and preening under Potter's rapt gaze. He heard a distant snort from the far end of the hallway which he immediately identified as Lucius.

"Well, shall we?" Blaise grumbled as he stormed to the table and sat himself down. The two of them slowly walked over, exchanging fervent glances like a young lovesick couple. He realised then that he needed to say something to Potter later about Draco's intentions. Not out of concern for Potter of course, just that it would be more than a little difficult to explain to the Ministry why their saviour's rotting corpse was in a house no one but him lived in at the moment. He quickly stifled the thought of spilling the beans as Draco turned back to him. He didn't know how much Draco could sense from him, but he was certain that it was enough to be cautious about.

"I suppose we could start with the fitting," Potter suggested hopefully. He reminded himself that Potter's feelings for Draco could be due to no more than the work of magic but his emotions railed against him again. His lip curled in contempt and he vindictively decided to make Potter work for that.

"What's the point of us going through all that trouble of trying to fit it on him, Potter, when we aren't even sure that the court will take the word of a 17 year old spirit?" he spat, crossing his arms agitatedly.

Potter raised an eyebrow in a maddeningly calm fashion. He replied slowly as if he were speaking to a dim child, "It's the only chance we have, Mr Zabini. For the sake of the Malfoys, we might as well just take it." An infuriating smile flitted over Potter's face when he saw the positive effect his words had had on Draco. Blaise felt like an idiot.

"Well, you do know best I suppose," Blaise sulkily responded, "Should I leave you two to the fitting?"

He was certain Potter was going to return a pseudo-courteous, "_Yes, if you don't mind us, Mr Zabini.", _when Draco cut in, "Don't be silly, Blaise. You've been Scorpius' guardian and a fine one at that. How can I just dismiss such a friend off like a lowly house elf?" In spite of his jealousy, Blaise found himself beaming back at Draco. It was also irrationally satisfying to see envy reflected across _Potter's_ face.

"So how do we- oh _wow._"

That git wasn't even containing the sheer glee spreading across his features now, Blaise observed. Draco had slipped out of the top without a sense of shame and his _skin_ was glimmering in the morning sun. The dress slipped past his hips to reveal…

…to reveal a pair of very normal looking black boxers. Blaise laughed out loud at the decidedly unsexy undergarment and Draco scowled, a little flustered, at him. Potter, however, continued staring at Draco as if he were the most delicious piece of meat he had ever seen in his life. Blaise half-hoped Lucius would return to sneer derisively at that dumb look on the lawyer's face.

"Catch the dress before it hits the ground!" Draco yelped as the ridiculous garment slid quickly down his legs. Blaise thankfully managed to hold himself back from reaching out like a fool, leaving Potter to grab it. The material stayed solid in Potter's hands as Draco elegantly stepped out of the pool of blue fabric. The blond ghost twisted around and grinned widely at Potter, showing a _little_ too much teeth in Blaise's opinion; but Potter still looked utterly enthralled.

"I always knew that _you _could help fix all this, Harry," Draco sighed, clasping his hands together in an exaggerated display of gratitude.

"Don't mention it at all," Harry mumbled as he threw the heavy dress over his shoulder, pulling his spare suit out of his case. Blaise stood back as the other man fumbled and smoothed the fabric over the smaller ghost, muttering spells to fit the suit over his frame.

_This process is taking way too long._

Blaise tapped his foot impatiently against the floor, the sound reverberating around the Manor. It was probably a mistake because he soon saw Lucius delightfully sweep through the front door. He heard the other ghost cackle softly at the lawyer and his son.

"How fitting," Lucius hissed, circling the pair like a shark.

Blaise felt discomfort stirring in the pits of his stomach and excused himself, heading off to make lunch.

* * *

When he returned with two platters of food, he was glad to see that Lucius had gone off to the gardens again. Draco was levitating (deceptively harmlessly) over a chair next to Potter, trying to make it seem as if he were sitting as well. Blaise silently laid a plate in front of Potter and started eating his own soundlessly.

"I think we can start preparing the statement for Draco," Potter smiled as he cleared his plate. Draco smiled back at him and moved slightly closer to him.

"Another day, perhaps? I'm exhausted," Blaise suggested warily. As horrendously amusing it was to watch a middle-aged saviour fall head-over-heels for a teenage boy spirit, he knew better than to keep Potter in Draco's magical presence for too long.

Not to mention the talk he _really_ needed to have with Potter after this.

Draco cried out alarmingly at that suggestion and he leaned even closer toward Potter. The temperature of the room abruptly plummeted.

"Why don't you just stay with us then, Harry?" the ghost demurely asked, pouting a little. Potter bit his lip, staring straight at the ghost; and Blaise knew at that moment that Potter was considering, knew that this was starting to get dangerous. He intervened.

"I'll discuss the living arrangements with Po-Harry outside for a while, okay Draco? I mean, it might be a little difficult to explain to _his wife and children_," Blaise shut his eyes as he rushed through the last bit. He felt another spike of coldness around the table; Draco was _panicking_. When he opened his eyes to look at the pair again, he saw why - Potter had stood up and was nodding toward Blaise, averting eye contact with Draco. Draco was reaching out, looking like a spurned kitten as he cried silently. Blaise felt his heart tearing apart at the sight but he reminded himself that this Draco wasn't quite the Draco he once knew.

He quickly pulled the hapless lawyer out of the Manor and Apparated away with him to a deserted corner near Potter's flat.

* * *

Potter couldn't stand at the end of that journey.

He was slumped against the wall, curled up as if he were in pain. Blaise watched him carefully, hand still gripped firmly around his wand if Potter were to lash out at him.

"I should've listened to Hermione, she said something about a spell; but maybe it's too late, I can't help it, and I-"

"Stop," Blaise said and he was glad that his voice didn't waver like he thought it would, "Stop thinking about this case, Potter, and stop thinking about Draco. Just-just drop this case, I'll find someone else. Go back to your flat while you still have some semblance of your own mind and never come back to the Manor again."

"And you?" Potter muttered.

"I-I'll find a way. I don't think I can live there much longer, either," Blaise said, wrapping his arms around himself as a wind started blowing, "I just want you to leave before things get worse. Go ask Granger for advice or something. I have to go before he gets suspicious."

Potter pulled himself up and breathed deeply. Blaise knew Draco's magic was probably still swirling around him but with luck it would disappear with distance. And Blaise, Blaise himself…he never thought the day would come, but he was going to have to be both cunning and _strong_ (_strong? Hah!)_ to fix this mess.

_What chance does a former scoundrel of war have against a mighty spell like that?_

His mind chuckled darkly at him. Blaise felt his heart thrum in fear in response. He glanced at his watch and knew that he had to leave now and return to that blasted place.

"Well, see you," Blaise murmured, waving his wand in preparation to Apparate back.

"We won't be in touch," Potter nodded, face still paler than Blaise had seen for a very long time.

"We won't be," he agreed. And with a swish and a flick Blaise was thrown back into chilly winds and into the spectacular halls of the haunted Manor.

* * *

"Harry?" Draco was swirling desperately around Blaise, still in that lawyer's spare suit, "Where's Harry, Blaise?"

"I don't know," Blaise stated flatly as he walked through Draco, heading to his room to pack up.

Draco froze.

Blaise knew that was an insolent move. And he had gone through with it; and now he wasn't sure if that was going to be the last move he ever made in his life.

An ear-piercing shriek sounded from the spirit behind him.

"You, _you chased him away, didn't you, Blaise! What did you do?! You smell so strongly of him, Blaise, don't dare you try to lie to me-!"_

The blonde ghost was circling him faster and faster as the room became colder and colder. Blaise stumbled helplessly, trying to make it to the main door to get the hell out of here; but his vision was spinning and he was freezing and oh, it really wasn't helping that he could hear Lucius laughing someplace down the hallway.

Then all the lights went off and the sun was blotted out of Blaise's vision. He was plunged into complete darkness and all of his flesh was quivering in the chill. He must have vomited in his state of nausea but he couldn't even muster the sense to avoid his own pool of bile. Collapsing to the ground, his hair pressed against his slick forehead, he breathed erratically as the tormented ghost continued screaming at him from all angles.

He just wanted it to end.

And it did, as his consciousness slipped slowly away from him like a rug being pulled out from under his feet. He heard the ghost's broken sob somewhere far from him and his heart still had the audacity to leap in sorrow at that familiar sound.

A breath caught and strangled itself in his throat. Blaise choked uncomfortably for a while. Then he ceased to breathe again.


End file.
